


Bury them deep beneath the ground

by Vanillinzucker



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Nursing Home, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Slow Build, nurse marco, smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanillinzucker/pseuds/Vanillinzucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a nurse with an unfinished school education who started working in a nursing home when he was 16.<br/>It's the year 2014 and two things happen: </p><p>1) Marco's first real relationship ends<br/>2) Marco gets to know Jean Kirschstein, who literally kicked open the door to see three shocked faces and his half naked grandmother. </p><p>This fic is about Jean and Marco (who would've guessed that?) but also about family and when to accept defeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bringer of Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, then I'm super excited just because you're reading this, because people reading my weird stuff makes me really happy.

A steady beeping noise sounded, surrounding him aggressively until he slapped his tiny radio alarm clock with the pillow he’d been sleeping on. The fight with the alarm clock every morning was wearing him down, but he was sure if he’d listen to any other voice than the cheery Christa’s, who told him what weather every morning, he’d get up and slam the thing into the adherent wall.

“Good morning, listeners! Today is the 14th February 2014 and the sun will be up and shining soon.” Her upbeat voice usually helped Marco launching himself out of bed, but today he felt dreary. He hid his face under his blanket again, because there was no one here who could’ve called him out for being childish. He would start being a mature, working person – in maybe half an hour. Christa’s voice was now muffled due to his covered up ears, but she still managed to talk enthusiastic enough to keep him awake. “As usual, my partner Ymir and I will be here for the morning, waiting for your music wishes – Post them on our Facebook page under Maria Radio” Ymir, who was the less… enthusiastic one, groaned and started her part “Hello, here’s Ymir. The streets of Maria are clear this morning, but pay attention at…” Ymir’s voice drowned out a bit and he dozed off until Christa chimed in again:

“Be safe and have a wonderful day, listeners!”

While she said that, he finally rolled himself out of his multitude of pillows, reaching for the cord of his blinds to draw them open. The sunlight did not hit his window yet, so he was still on time. He glanced at his clock showing him a hazy red five-and-something o’clock and he made his way to the kitchen, where he put on the radio to listen to some more of Maria Radio. Maria Radio was some sort of weird contrary thing to Welcome to Night Vale he thought, imagining the podcast Armin had pressured him into listening to, because in Maria, the little town where he lived, nothing bad ever happened. Well, nothing bad apart from the usual things, death and sickness, breakups and cheating boyfriends. He frowned. That was definitely not something he wanted to think of today.

He downed his coffee and ate a toast that maybe had been in his drawer a bit too long. Today was probably going to be a shit day, so he had to get it over with.  
Searching for a pair of scrubs that weren't stained in some way – he had a more or less gross pile of them lining his bathroom floor - he rummaged through his closet. He furiously ran his hand through his unkempt, almost black hair – when did his place get so maniacally unclean? If he wouldn’t sort his flat out until this weekend, someone would most likely call the police to check if someone had died in here.

It wasn’t entirely Marco’s fault that his clothes smelled a bit like dead people, because it sort of belonged to his job. He was sure that the old people, dying alone in their apartments only to be found later by the worried landlord, had a somewhat similar scent to them.  
Marco liked working with older people, but he really hated that smell. It never quite left his nose, whether it was their dirty diapers or the fish he had to puree and feed them, even if the most of it landed on his violet shirt or the towel he fastened under the elder’s neck. It was a pungent smell and even though his friends never once complained about it, he knew there was a reason why he only ever visited them and they avoided his place as if he had a laboratory where he designed biochemical weapons on the basis of a week’s worth unwashed scrubs. 

While he swore to himself to clean this whole thing up in the evening – it was Friday, after all – he brushed his teeth, roughly attempted to do something with his hair and headed out of the flat. The nursing home he worked in was within walking distance, as was everything else in the town of Maria. He’d been working there for four years now, one year since he finished the training to be a nurse for the elderly – a job he found was fine after dropping out of school after he had the tenth year degree. He wanted to do something for society and without having the chance to do a college education, being a nurse was a great job. Working with people had always come easy to him and they all seemed to trust him despite his lack of education.

The house was four stories high, set next to the town’s park, with old, rickety windows and a fading peach-colored façade. He switched his phone to silent – not that anyone would phone him during the day, but still – and went right through the large glass door in the front, greeting the older woman behind the reception desk and walked to the nurses’ station in the second floor where he was regularly working. Often, he would be the first one to be there in the morning – checking his wristwatch it was barely 6 o’clock – but today one of his co-workers was already there.

The tall, gangly man sat behind the computer, frowning at what the program was showing him. From where he was standing, it was just charts and numbers. “Good morning, Bertolt!” Marco called, exaggerating the happiness. Bertolt slowly turned around, greeting him with the same frown that seconds earlier was directed against the computer. Enthusiastic probably didn't match his face today. 

“Hello, Marco.” he sat down next to him. Honestly, Bertolt wasn’t the easiest person to talk with. He kept to himself and the only one he ever saw him talking agitatedly to was Reiner, the nursing home's janitor. “Do you know how this program works? Annie tricked me into doing the work schedule, but all I’ve been able to do was getting an error message and an urge to hit the keyboard.”

He shoved him gently aside, wordlessly filling out the plan. “Annie’s called in sick again?” Annie was a stoic person, but she could be incredibly soft while working with the elder people. It was a mystery – a mystery almost as big as why she’s sick half of the time. She’d only been working here for perhaps 10 months, but he could already say that the weeks where she made an everyday appearance were rare. If they weren't short on personnel, Hanji would probably have fired her by now.

Bertolt shook his head. “More like I had to call in for her.” They lived together, which he imagined to be a really quiet affair, what with Annie showing next to no emotion most of the time and Bertolt’s general anti-talkativeness.

As the sun went up outside, more people filled the station. By 6:15, the regular start of the early shift, all of them were there and he was glad for that. After fixing the problem with the computer, Bertolt had stopped talking to him, so he just sat there staring at his silent phone for what felt like ages. Most likely it was about 10 minutes, but they really stretched. He was on edge for some reason, so starting work soon would do him some good. The other nurses were all slightly older than him, because he was still on his first job and only 19.

He grabbed his tablet and a sliding table, moving out of the nurses’ station onto the linoleum floor of Department 2. There was a gong that was supposed to wake up the residents – in all of Jinae Nursing Home there were probably 150, in Department 2 a good 40 – but he knew that on his side, the south side, most of them were either deaf enough to not hear or stubborn enough to ignore the gong. He pushed the first door open, setting up his soft, caring smile that he didn’t had to fake most of the time and called “Good Morning, Miss Clark!” Wheeling in his stuff, he put on the light and looked around the corner to see her soundly sleeping. There was a bit of hesitating on his side when he first got here, because while he was barely 16 and a bit frightened, he never quite knew if they were sleeping or dead. The horror ceded quickly though. Now he just softly grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, purposefully ignoring the scent of bodily liquids practically oozing from her. Oh well. Even though the frail Miss Clark with the photos of all her grandchildren on the nightstand wasn’t declared incontinent from her doctor, she still managed to wet her bed every other day.

“Ah, Miss Clark, I think we’ll have to call Doctor Smith again so he’ll finally prescribe you some diapers.” She didn’t show a sign of comprehending, but he already tapped his phone to send Armin a text. Armin Arlert was his friend since he started his training a year and a half ago, because he was the nurse accompanying Doctor Smith on his visits here. He was his age and, opposed to himself, actually did the nurse training to study to become a doctor later – he was far more diligent than he could ever think of being.

Armin answered with a frowny face and “will tell”, which meant that the notable Doctor Smith was too busy – again. Sighing, he heaved Miss Clark into her wheelchair after cleaning her up and dressing her. Making her bed for the third time this week, he wondered if Doctor Smith had become a bit negligent. He was a great doctor and he greatly respected him, mostly because Armin didn’t allow a negative judgment of the G.P., but he wasn’t very close to the people he was treating, which Armin defended by saying he was a surgeon before and had to learn how to work with people now. Armin only started studying at his office one year ago, after he graduated high school, and the doctor himself barely started his business six months prior to that. He was still very young for a doctor - the same way Marco was young for a nurse.

After he finished Miss Clark and got some marmalade toast into her, the morning didn’t get better. He had someone puke malt coffee all over him and another one gripping his arm so tight that he didn’t feel like holding his coffee cup when he made it back to the nurses’ station for breakfast.  
“You look horrible, Marco” one of his co-workers offered. He spun around, fixating Eren with his eyes.  
“Yeah” he let his shoulders drop, sitting down on a chair on the small white table in the room, leaning his head against the raw wall. “Mr Carlssen didn’t take his medicine too well.” The old man was still attentive enough to apologize while he was wiping his face with a wet towel, trying not to breathe in their united heightened smell.  Marco just stroked his head and said he should just use the beeper to let someone bring a kidney dish instead of waiting too long and having to apologize later.

Eren had a somewhat pitying look in his green eyes, but Marco would’ve been glad if he’d just laugh it off. Marco didn’t like being pitied, especially not by people who knew what it was like to have other peoples' waste all over their body. It made him feel as if he was a case for special care – maybe the others felt that he was already having a shit day. The others, 4 nurses plus Reiner, huddled around the table, sipping coffee and not commenting on his acid smell. Bertolt, Eren, the quirky Sasha and Connie, who braided Sasha’s hair just to make fun of the hygiene regulations, sat there.

“Did you know – the boss wants us to call each other by our surnames now!” Sasha threw in, biting in a cheese sandwich. “She mentioned especially that we should call Reiner – what’s your surname again? Sorry.” “Braun.” he said, smiling it off. “Yeah. So next time I see you in the halls, I’ll probably have to come close to read your name tag before talking to you, because I honestly don’t know all your names.” She mimicked her looking for the name tag and scrunched up her nose.  Soon they all started calling each other our surnames across the table, which was a ridiculous thing – “Give me the butter, Springer” “Get it yourself, Braus!” – But he wasn’t into it. Marco quietly picked at his supermarket-salad and stared the tabletop down.

“What is it, Marco?” Reiner asked in his deep, careful voice. The reason they liked to have him around was that he really cared – about them and the people they took care of and he would always backtrack and help them if something was up. Also, it was hilarious to see how infatuated he was with Bertolt, who didn’t have a clue. They even had a bet on that, hidden behind countless utility and shopping lists. Right now, no one seemed to be winning, though.

“I’m just feeling a bit down.” he answered vaguely, earning himself five concerned looks and a “Don’t give me that shit! Just tell us”-glare  
He sighed, putting his coffee mug down. “My boyfriend dumped me” he breathed out. There, he finally said it. The world didn’t stop spinning and people obviously didn’t stop puking on him just because he happened to have a bad day in a bad week that was probably soon going to turn into a bad month.

“Then he couldn’t have been much good.” Eren said, sounding angry. His main mode of functioning was angry, so it wasn’t really a surprise. Taking in the looks of the others that probably told him to shut up or at least be sensitive about it, he spit out “Yeah, what? You all know I’m probably right.” He turned to Marco again. “You deserve someone nice.”

Eren’s definition of nice probably differed from Marco's, because he knew he was into that kitchen guy, Levi, who permanently scowled at everyone and obviously put his bad mood into his food – the food was horrible too. His boyfriend, Thomas, had been Marco’s definition of nice though. Well, he did until that moment he dumped him, of course.

He’d shaken his blonde head at dinner, signalizing something was wrong even before he said anything. Hell, Marco knew there was something up. He knew that their relationship was going in all the wrong directions and he knew that Thomas was dissatisfied and growing weary of him, which culminated into him telling Marco that he couldn’t stand it anymore. The “it” he explained contained:

1)      His dirty flat that they could never go to

2)      The shift system of Marco’s workplace (they never talked about Thomas’ office job, because obviously working late was a given in a bureau, but when Marco took a bit longer, he got the evil eye)

3)      He spent way too much time with Armin, who was too cute to not be jealous of, obviously. Because Marco totally was the type of cheater that Thomas viewed him as

He told the story his co-workers – who nodded emphatically and squeezed his shoulders – and he even felt a bit better afterwards. Maybe if he talked to Armin later, the whole story would stop feeling as if someone kicked him in his lungs once he cried a bit into his white shirt.

With that, the staff breakfast ended. Or rather, it was ended by the boss, Hanji, standing in the doorway. “Hello, nurses of Compartment 2 and… Mr Braun!” she formally greeted us. It sounded like mock-formality even from across the room. “I wanted to tell you that you’re going to get a new patient today” she clapped her hands, nodding at them “Isn’t it exciting?”

They all dutifully nodded and murmured a “Yes”, before she came in, grabbed a cup of coffee without asking and sat down on the table rather than a chair. She was a weird one, but she had a scarily good technique of managing the facility and he also had his job thanks to her taking him in after he finished the tenth grade, so he was grateful. She gestured towards Marco and let all the other nurses scurry out of the room to do … whatever. The break technically wasn’t over.

“So, Marco, the new patient will be arriving soon. And I want you” she dramatically pointed her finger at his still vomit-splattered chest, noticably dropping the surname “Will take care of her, because she’s referred to 2-South. Got it?” He nodded, gently pushing her hand away. “Great. You’ll also help out with the basic checks – Dr Smith and Arlert are coming in later.” She grasped his hand “And I wish you the best of luck.”

Huh? What for? He wanted to ask her, but she’d already hurried out of the room again. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to handle that and even less of a reason to make it sound so dramatic. Sure, Marco never singlehandedly checked in a patient before, but he was sure that everything would go smoothly – he watched it often enough. He’d maybe even get a chance to talk to Armin and perhaps he could trick him into letting him stay over tonight. They did live in the same building, so he said yes more often than no.

He grabbed the file Hanji dropped onto the table and flicked through it. The patient was a woman around eighty with almost no family left to take care of her and a beginning dementia that made it impossible for her to live at home alone. Her picture smiled at him out of the file, which was probably one of the patient files that Armin created in Dr Smith’s office because it carried his distinct, clean handwriting. He said he preferred handwritten files over typed ones.

“Mrs Elsa Kästner” the scripture said. He sighed. If he took in a patient, he should at least look presentable and not as if he just dived into a garbage can for fun (or into a bucket of Levi’s nursing home food – one can never tell). Snatching a new pair of scrubs out of the cleaning room, he quickly changed and then went down to the first floor, where he should greet Mrs Kästner in the quarter of an hour. He took the stairs, almost slipping on the freshly mopped stone, and hurried up. The scrubs he chose were sticking out, but it was too late to change them again – they were green, a clashing contrast to the purple clothed staff in Compartment B and also the pants were very tight whereas the shirt was two numbers to big. If he could guess, he’d probably think that they were Bertolt’s spare pair – they were the right combination of being made for a very skinny, but very tall person.

He sat down on a chair next to the reception, talking a bit with Petra, who had reception desk duty after the night shift lady who greeted had greeted him this morning, about her on-off boyfriend, which left her laughing a bit embarrassed and beet-red, a sight that made Marco grin. “There they come” Petra said, pointing towards the glass door. Armin, with his blonde hair pulled up in a small ponytail, was wheeling an old lady through the automatic glass doors.  Dr Smith, or Erwin, as Armin would say, followed Armin – he was wearing his coat and over it that weird green medallion of his. He’d ask Armin of the significance, but he didn’t answer. Armin made Marco feel as if he just waded through a dump. Unlike him, he wore scrubs that were actually his size and accentuated his blue eyes. Armin, although in a completely platonic way, was a sight for sore eyes, so instead of doing what he should (which was saying hello to his patient) he hugged Armin tightly, albeit determined not to start crying – yet. “Marco, what’s up?” he asked quietly, looking worried. He mouthed a “Later” before shaking the hands of both Erwin and Mrs Kästner.

“Hello, I’m Marco Bodt, one of the nurses from Compartment B.” He smiled winningly and the old lady pulled a face. Well, awesome. Maybe Sasha should have done that – she was able to make almost everyone smile.

“We love to have you here, Mrs Kästner.” He continued, waving for Armin to wheel her to the elevator. Dr Smith followed them quickly, pushing the elevator button.  
“Yeah, yeah” she said, shaking her head.  
“We do understand you’d rather be at home, but I’m sure you’ll like living here as well.” She shot him a doubtful look and he wondered whether he’d gone too far assuming.  
“Well, here we are!” he said smiling, showing her the somewhat uninviting and dimly lit corridor. Perhaps that wasn’t the best point to start off, but why hide something you can’t? The air certainly was a bit depressing, but with time everyone got used to the squeaky linoleum, the drowned out noises and the withering old people. Or so he thought.

He led them to the empty room on the left side, which had one bed, two chairs and a table, a small bathroom and a flat screen TV the last resident’s family had… left. It still smelled a bit like the last person who had lived there, because he’d been a smoker who refused to let someone wheel him outside so he could smoke a cigarette until they begrudgingly allowed him to do it inside if he asked someone to open the window a crack first.

“Here we are!” he said. Didn’t he say the same thing two minutes ago? He certainly was lost. He tried remembering all the lessons Hanji told him while he was still in training. “I think we should start the checkup now.” Dr Smith said quietly, obviously noting that Marco was at a loss. He nodded thankfully, sitting down on one of the chairs while Armin and the attractive doctor did their thing. They were really synched and it was nice watching two people working together so well.

After a while, Armin came over, sitting down on the other chair. “You seem to be a bit out of it today, Marco.” His thoughtful blue eyes searched his face. “Was it the date with Thomas yesterday?”

He nodded, gulping a bit. “Please don’t tell me…”  
Marco nodded again. Armin looked down, earnestly sorry for him. “Well, let’s talk about something else.” He said cheerily. He must’ve noticed that Marco was about to cry when he started that subject. “I think …”

They were interrupted by the opening door, which did no good for the still half-naked Mrs Kästner. “I was told you’d be here!” an angry voice said in the general direction of Mrs Kästner.  
Marco stared at the figure in the doorway. There was an angry boy, about his age, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a neatly styled two-colored undercut and a murderous facial expression. After they all were awestruck for a second, two people at the same time said “Jean!” in a reprimanding manner. Marco turned to Armin first, who’d spoken up too. “What?" he asked after seeing Marco's intrigued glance, then he shrugged "We went to school together.” That didn't explain why he eyed him as if he was the devil himself, though. “What are you doing here, Mr Kirschstein?” Erwin asked irritated. He put a blanket over Mrs Kästner and turned to them.

“Visiting my grandma” he said scowling. Jean, apart from obviously having an angry expression etched into his face, was attractive. He was lean, most likely muscular and very neatly dressed. He looked as if he was about to punch someone, though, and that was generally appalling to Marco.

“Visiting hours are not until three o’clock in the afternoon” he said softly. He would try the nice approach. That was his go-to-method anyway, even in a weird situation. To not even mention that no one visits a patient on their first day, because that would be as if they changed their mind – it made no sense at all for Jean to be there.

“I don’t care” he said, going over to Mrs Kästner and hugging her tightly. “Grandma” he said, smiling at her. Marco blinked, fully taking in his … really sweet smile.  
“Were you not the one initiating the move here?” he asked, rather thoughtlessly. He was still distressed by Jean hugging his half-naked grandma, to be honest.  
He was shot a blistering glare “Of course not!” he spat out “That was my parents’ idea.” He said parents in the same tone Marco used when he talked about being vomited over.

“There, there, Jean. Calm down.” The grandma patted his head slightly, causing him to sit down next to her.

“I want to take her home with me.” He said steadily, looking each person in the room drop-dead serious in the eyes.

What?


	2. The Voice of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can expect, Jean puts up a fight and Armin and Marco get to spent some time together.

Marco knew he was in trouble.

He saw Jean’s determined expression, somewhere between these half-naked guys in 300 and Javert from Les Miserablés, and he panicked. He knew that he had to convince Jean to let his grandmother stay here, because it would be his very own failure if they went away. And the management really wasn't keen on this sort of bad publicity, especially when someone like Jean Kirschstein - he was certain he heard the name before - was behind it. They'd fire him immediately.

What he also knew was that he had to be really delicate. If he came of as the guy who followed the orders of the health insurance companies and the parents Jean so obviously held a grudge against he would keep losing ground until the home’s management was forced to sign the papers. And then he would be held responsible for it.

He was proud that he managed to meet Jean’s glare without flinching, before he put on the calm, even voice Bertolt used when he was talking with dementia patients. “I think we should talk this out first, Mr Kirschstein.”

The still glaring man winced, pulling his arm away from his grandmother. “Don’t call me that.”  
“What?” Marco blinked irritated.  
“Mr Kirschstein” he mumbled “That’s my father.”

He exchanged a look with Armin, who had been staring pointedly at his white clogs. Armin and Erwin seemed really uncomfortable with the situation since they were not the ones who had to deal with it and who had unwillingly been pulled into it. Erwin had even put his distant face on, the one I called the “professional physician”. He supposed that was the face he used when talking about bad news.

“I’m sorry” he offered “It’s a formality. Should I call you Jean instead?” That would feel more comfortable anyway. The other man nodded relieved.

“I think before arguing, we should let the doctor finish his job. Would that be acceptable?” He noticed himself using the distant voice, too. Marco actually hated doing this, but getting too attached to people would only hurt him. The most people who got checked in were here for the last stop of their lives, the relatives most of the times already thinking of them as dead. And Marco had to accept his role as the one who should make the death easy and as painless and humane as possible.

Jean’s grandmother, however, didn’t seem half-dead right now. She had taken a rigid pose and looked as if she was going to punch any of them in about a second - it showed off the resemblance to her grandson. Jean gave his okay for the examination and Marco had to almost carry him into the stale-smelling corridor.

“I’m really sorry your parents didn’t take your opinion into consideration, Jean” he started carefully, as soft as possible. It wasn’t his job to damage the guy, because he already seemed wrecked enough by his family. Besides, he noted absentmindedly, he’d never hurt anyone who was as loving as Jean was with his grandmother. He could tell that he was rough outside, but if he cared so much for the old lady, he’d have to have a heart. That was why Marco liked his colleagues – even though some of them, like Annie or Mikasa, were seemingly distant and cold, they had a soft spot for old people. For the health of people in general, or otherwise they wouldn’t be doing this pretty shit job.

Jean was the same, Marco thought. And that would make talking the idea of caring for his grandmother by himself out of him a lot harder.

“Didn’t take my thoughts into consideration?” He looked as if he was about to rip the lighter part of his undercut out of its roots. It looked painful and Marco almost had to stop his hands to not interrupt him tearing at the light brown strands. “They never even told me, the bastards.”

Marco was about to tell him that swearing was not high on the list of approved behavior in the nursing home, but then he thought that Jean wouldn’t care anyway.

“I’m still sorry” he said, and meant it “But that doesn’t mean that they don’t have a point”. Jean was already shaking his head, but Marco kept on prompting because he really didn’t want to lose ground just because he wasn’t fast enough. “See, it’s hard to take care of people on your own, even if you are loving and a family member and really want to do everything right. And you are young and working. The facility would be able to care for your grandmother just fine. We have all the time and staff we need. You could even help, there are husbands who-“ The young and working part was a wild guess - for all he knew, Jean could be lounging at his parents house without ever working. He could still go to school. He could study at the college or anything.

“Please stop.” He interrupted quietly. “I see your point; of course I do. I’m no idiot, even if I look like one.” Marco was about to say something to stop Jean’s self-degrading, but he knew building up Jean’s self-esteem was neither his responsibility nor his objective.

“But beside the fact that I probably am not the _young and working_ ” he imitated his soft-spoken voice at this point and Marco winced because he missed his mark“ guy you take me for and I really don’t doubt your ability” he stumbled over his speech to make it sound polite “I don’t give a shit.” And there was the end to the politeness.

Marco almost laughed at his face at that point, but that wouldn’t bring him points. “You put up a fine argument” Jean said, obviously reconsidering his last words “But that won’t change a thing.”

So he was a stubborn one, eh? Marco didn’t say that out loud, but he wasn’t even sure how much of Jean’s motivation was love for his grandmother or rebelling against his parents. He had his doubts about the whole thing and not just because it put him in a bad place.

“It would really be better if you…” Marco started again. “I said stop.” Jean said, now harder, which would have been fine because he didn’t even knew where to take the discussion now, but he added “I won’t actually consider your opinion valid when you look as if you put on your scrubs in the dark.” With the insult in his voice, Marco was stirred angry too. He supposed he looked a bit ratty, but did Jean even know how his job was like? He probably wasn’t even thinking what a burden he would put on himself when he wanted to take care of Mrs Kästner himself.

When he told him that, the real emotion he was feeling started to boil over and Jean put on a challenging face. “Not good enough” he almost mocked him now. The argument started to become a bit uncalled-for and louder until the moment Armin pulled them into the room again.

Jean didn’t stop though. “Do you care for this people? Really? I mean, looking around, I don’t see the fucking smiley-faced seniors you put on your flyers? This is the most depressing shithole I’ve been to in a while and that’s really saying something.”

Armin pulled a face as Marco inched closer, possibly to slap him. His motivation to stay nice vanished when he started being plain mean. It was perhaps just a defense mechanism and Armin hold him back with his right arm, but it hurt nevertheless. He knew that the nursing home wasn’t the most pleasing place to be around and it was smelly and creeped out quite a lot of people, but the staff was fine and caring and they really did their best. How could you make a place where almost everyone who came in goes out dead lively? That was impossible.

“Jean!” a strong voice sounded from behind us. The angry Mrs Kästner stared us down, making Marco feel a bit like a child called steeling chewing gum from a store.  
“You make me feel a bit ashamed.” She continued. Jean blushed hard, mustering his sneakers intensively. “You should really know how to behave. These people” she pointed at Marco and the abashed Armin and Erwin “try to do their job.”

“Sorry” he mumbled, making Marco smile a tiny bit because he sounded so crestfallen. He almost forgot about his anger.

“And I’m going to stay here for the moment” she said decidedly.

“What?” Jean called out, flustered. He looked so unhappy at that moment. “But why?”

“Jean, it’s irresponsible of you to want to take me” she said calmly. Marco admired her ability to reason with Jean, but it was probably due to long years of being around him. “Think about it for a change. Where would you want to put me?”

“Well, in my flat of course” he said pointedly.

“You really don’t want me in your flat. Not all day, every day – and you shouldn’t spend your time helping me, although you might think that it’s worth it at the moment. And it would stop being your flat the moment your parents find out about this.”

“But…”

“No _but_ , Jean. It’s still my decision. It won’t be soon enough, so let me breathe, please.”

She managed to bring that out in a tone that Marco could’ve never managed, even though he carried the same point. Maybe it was because of the emotional attachment, but he felt Jean’s stubbornness fade.

“Fine.” He sighed out finally. Marco almost breathed out heavily too because Mrs Kästner just finished what should have been his job. So apparently, Jean wasn’t completely resilient to reason. Or at least he had enough respect for his grandmother to accept her wishes. Which was great for Marco. Now he wouldn’t have to crouch and beg Hanji and her boss for forgiveness that he hecked up terribly.

Jean’s grandmother patted his head lightly, then turned to the rest: “I think you’ll have to stand him being around here.”  
“It’s fine” Marco beamed, very relieved. He’ll endure that happily “That’s our job, too.”

When his shift ended, he barely had the power to walk back to his own flat. The evening had been horrid, with him having to change rooms with Eren because he went off early (and he was, as always, too dutiful to refuse). Eren’s room was the one room the others didn’t like to enter, because the woman inside was 200 kilograms heavy and was ill with bad intestinal bacteria so they had to wear OR clothes and a mouthpiece just to make her bed. From having to flop the woman around with his hands (the lifting machine wouldn’t carry anything heavier than 150 kg), he was completely exhausted.

Flopping himself onto the couch, he closed his eyes without even shedding the mismatching scrubs. While the world pleasantly turned darker due to his face pressed deeply into the IKEA pillows, he dozed off until he heard a rhythmical knock on the door. Groaning, he dragged himself to open it.

“Armin!” he managed, not at all enthusiastic, when he saw the thin blond man standing in his doorway. He entered, walking over to Marco’s kitchenette and pouring himself the rest of his cold coffee. While carefully sipping, he watched him slouch down opposite of him at the camping table. “Wow, you never even changed your clothes. You must be super worn-out.” He just managed to nod, putting his chin on the table.

“I feel rather terrible” he admitted the weight of the split-up and the discussion with Jean bringing him down. Being a stinking, horrible lump he wouldn’t have made quite the great company for Armin that night. He was grateful for the other to not even bat an eyelash at the state of his home, though. He must’ve went down from his floor to see how he was doing when he didn’t came by the usual time he did.

“Well, you do look the part” Armin said, putting the cup down. “Perhaps it would be better if your flat was less… depressing?” It was nice how he tried to skirt around the word “gross” and “bile-inducing”, but he heard it in the careful pause.

“I never have time to clean up” he moaned, looking around. There were lumps of clothes everywhere, the floor needed to be vacuumed for maybe two hours and he didn’t even know when he last changed his sheets. “I’m a mess” he said startled. Armin reached out to perhaps touch him encouragingly, but stopped because of him still wearing his working clothes.

He sighed, ruffling through his blond hair, probably because he just lost a fight with himself. “I guess I could help you out a bit.” The trepidation in his voice was almost tangible. Marco didn’t blame him – he was afraid of roaming the depths of his chaos himself … that was why he put it off so long. For all he knew, creatures that developed through natural selection out of dirty clothes could have built a colony and established an early democracy by now.

“Not today though” Marco said, silently thanking him for his solidarity. “Can I stay at your place?” Armin’s couch was his safe haven, complete with his own guest blanket. “I thought that was the plan anyway” he just shrugged, picking himself off the uncomfortable chair.

While they walked up the staircase after Marco shifted into real clothes – he didn’t let Armin see the state of his bedroom, he closed the door until it was just a small gap – Marco thought again about meeting Armin at Ms Kästner’s room in the afternoon.

“You said you met Jean?” he asked, recalling the moment.  
“Ah, yeah. We went to the same school for almost 7 years. Why?”

“Because you never told me about him.”  
“Was there a reason why I should have told you?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. His answer was a little too indignant to just shrug it off.  
“What is it?” he prodded. Marco knew the small school all the people he knew went to - the Maria High School - but Armin never so much as talked about his school time.

He coughed, not looking at Marco while fiddling with his keys and kicking the door a bit to open it. Marco still gazed at him expectantly after they sat down on Armin’s couch. “Well, I guess we were a… thing” he said dismissively.

His eyes widened, imagining them as a couple. “Ohh-kay. But really, a _thing_? What age are you again?”  Armin blushed a bit, making his blue eyes stand out even more.  
“Why does this even interest you?”

He wasn’t sure either, but he could still explain it casually. “I’m going to have to deal with him a lot in the future, so I want to know how to… handle him.”  
Armin laughed dryly, which was an unusual gesture for him “Good luck with that. He’s incredibly hard to handle.” He sounded a bit bitter, so he guessed they didn’t part on good terms – as if Jean not addressing Armin hadn’t already been an indicator for that.

“He’s stubborn, opinionated and quite a bit vindictive.”  
“As much as Eren?” Eren was, other than being my co-worker, Armin’s best friend from his childhood.  
Armin snorted. “Please. Nobody’s quite as vindictive as Eren. They avoid each other like the plague, though.”  
“Who?”  
“Eren and Jean. They never got along, really.” That would make a relationship hard, too, he realized. “What’s with Mikasa?” Marco asked. They all grew up together, so he guessed they all went to MHS, then. He was sure that Mikasa only worked at the nursing home because Eren did, anyway. While Eren seemed to have been a bit sloppy at school, Mikasa would have had better possibilities in another career than she had as a simple nurse, but she never seemed to hold a grudge.

“Um, she and Jean are a different story entirely.” Armin said, crossing his arms. “She was his kindergarten love, you could say.” Their entire constellation was so weird he had to reconsider it for a moment.

“Wow. Weird. But none of you never even mentioned him.”  
“The opportunity never occurred.”  
“But you’ll all have to deal with him in the future. Won’t that be tough?” Marco asked, not relenting at all.  
“That’s probably going to be tough.” Armin admitted, leaning against a pillow. He probably knew better what to expect of them in the nursing home than Marco, so his position must have been justified.

After that, they just idly chatted a bit, avoiding the subject of Thomas and also not coming back to the whole Jean-thing, which seemed to be a bit of a soft spot for Armin. He still wondered how long they’d been together – Marco never saw Armin having a relationship except for the weird thing he probably had with Erwin (he never asked Armin about that, a bit afraid of the gore-y details).

He slept heavenly on Armin’s couch and since he had the weekend off he was allowed to sleep until the sun shone through Armin’s blinds across the room. His flat was immaculate and clean, with useful but well-chosen furnishing and no unnecessary stuff lying around. The kitchen was open and actually inviting to eat in it and he knew that Armin’s bedroom was a lot cozier than the dump he slept in, but he couldn’t help it. He always wondered how Armin managed to keep his job and his private life going while still desiring to study medicine. It was a goddamn miracle.

Half an hour later, Armin also hauled himself out of his living room, sporting a messy bedhead and rubbing his forehead until his fringe stood up furiously. “’Morning” he mumbled, dragging his bare feet to the kitchen. Marco followed him, trying to help him making breakfast but just stepping aside after Armin threw him a warning glare. Surprisingly enough, Armin wasn’t a morning person. He would be bright and up and functioning faster than Marco, however, when he had his coffee.

“So, what will you do today?” He asked; munching on the healthy muesli Armin produced out of his shelf.  
“Actually, I have a date.” Marco had to mentally admonish himself so he wouldn’t do something as rude as spitting out his cereal or dropping his spoon. It shouldn’t be so unlikely that Armin had a date – he was attractive, intelligent and helpful, so he justified being widely desired, actually.

“Ah, oh, umm” he stuttered a bit dumbfounded “With whom?”  
Armin blushed, biting into his toast and chewing it carefully before answering. “Erwin.”

“Erwin” Marco repeated, staring at the blond one “Ha! So there is something going on between you two!” His voice hinted a triumph – he always figured that sooner or later they’d end up like that.

“What are you implying?” Armin asked, spreading Nutella over a second toast.  
“Uh, nothing.”  
“Really, Marco?”  
“Well, I always had a feeling that this was happening.”

“But this is literally going to be our first date.” Armin said, sounding a bit cross. Maybe he’d assumed a bit much.  
“Well, maybe I have the gift of premonition?” he tried to joke it off. Armin shook his head.  
“No, seriously, what do you think?”

“I think it’s fine. Why?”  
“Because he’s older.” Armin looked down as if the toast was suddenly unappetizing and Marco intently looked at the schedule glued to the fridge, which was right next to Armin’s head.  
“Armin, honestly, I think if you want to, you should go for it. Really, you’re an adult. Also, he’s not that much older. And” he smirked a bit “I’ll admit that he’s quite hot.” That was not a lie – for being in his mid-thirties, Erwin was probably a bit of a short-haired Thor, with him being pretty built and all - although his hair was more of a 'Captain America'. If you were into that, that is. But he wasn’t quite sure if there was anyone not into that, if he was being honest.

Armin threw his toast at him, vexed. “Marco!”  
He ended up having the Nutella all over his T-Shirt – well, at least it was uneaten food for a change – and they had a fine morning. Armin promised to tell him of his date right after he visited Eren and Mikasa on Sunday and Marco went back to his dirty flat cheerily.

He never thought about Jean or even Mrs Kästner again until Monday morning when his alarm set off and the Christa and Ymir joked around, apparently happier about their job as Marco was ever. “Hello there, listeners of Maria Radio. Today’s Monday the 17th February 2014 and the weather’s going to be fine again. Looks as if we’re going to have an early spring, don’t you think, Ymir?” He never heard Ymir’s answer because he hit the off-button.

The routine began all over again, right from him slouching to work to him absentmindedly entering the nurses’ station. Thinking of the date Christa told, he counted back in his head. Friday had been Valentine's day? He thought about just missing it, then consequently about Thomas dumping him the night prior to it (he didn't have a present for him, though, so probably it was for the best) and Armin presumably being asked out on that day. Marco sighed, starting to feel even more lonely then usual.

The only one there at the moment was Eren, who seemed pissed off for no reason whatsoever. Mikasa was nowhere to be seen, probably already working, so he asked him what was wrong.

“Well, I don’t know, Marco”  
Marco didn’t know either, but probably should, according to his tone. He bit his lip.  
“But what is fucking Jean Kirschstein doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was the second chapter. I hope you liked it and I hope you don't mind me making Marco and Armin friends because I found the idea of them talking about this stuff really cute.

**Author's Note:**

> The facts about the nursing home are taken from my experiences in an internship - believe me, it wasn't pretty.  
> Anyway, the facts might still be a bit out of place and since I was in a German nursing home, I kinda just went with it. 
> 
> If you read this, then you're hella and I love you already.  
> Oh, and the title's taken from "Flaws" by Bastille.
> 
> my [tumblr](http://www.mynightwithvangogh.tumblr.com)


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